


balance theory

by pearwaldorf



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Foe Yay, M/M, Pre-Canon, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, proprietary feelings about murder, rescuing your enemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25389964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: It is not the knife that surprises Nicolo, but rather the direction from which it comes. The last thought he remembers isNormally he comes from the front.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 598





	balance theory

**Author's Note:**

> content notes: violence, murder, blood

_my friend’s friend is my friend  
my friend’s enemy is my enemy  
my enemy’s friend is my enemy  
my enemy’s enemy is my friend_  
\--Fritz Heider

* * *

  


It is not the knife that surprises Nicolo, but rather the direction from which it comes. It gets him in the left kidney, and the pain is—unfathomable is not the correct term for it anymore, but he is still learning to get his mind around it. The last thought he remembers is _Normally he comes from the front._

He wakes up trussed like a chicken, ready for the oven. That’s new. Usually when this happens, they revive next to each other, in some morbid parody of a post-coital tangle. (There’s a joke about big and little deaths somewhere in this; Yusuf would be able to make one, and grin like a shithead when Nicolo groans at how terrible it is.) 

“The stories are true, then.” Ah, fuck. This happens sometimes, no matter how hard they try to be circumspect. Somebody gets wind of a rumor, tries to test the veracity of it. 

(Last time it had been Yusuf, surprised by a slash to the neck, right at the carotid. The blood had scarcely bloomed through his keffiyeh before Nicolo struck out, quick and sharp as a snake. He dragged Yusuf into a side alley and waited. Yusuf came to, looked at his still-wet head covering, then at him.

“So who pays for the cleaning when it isn’t either of us?” 

Nicolo had laughed then, flipped him a coin. “My treat. This one time.”) 

“And what of it? Are you going to keep me here, figure out far you can go until I don’t come back?” He tries to get a look at his captor. The light is poor, and he has kept to the shadows. Probably wise, although it does not make Nicolo feel better about the man’s foresight.

“A man who cannot die is useful. I am sure we will figure out how to best utilize this special talent of yours.” Along with the irritation there is a small undercurrent of fear. It was bad enough being a soldier when he was mortal. The prospect of eternal servitude is not something he wants to contemplate. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he senses movement, the flash of a dagger. The quiet gurgle of somebody aspirating blood into their throat and subsequent thump of a body dropped to the ground. Yusuf wipes his dagger on the dead man’s cloak, and something in Nicolo’s traitorous heart jumps. 

“Oh good, this was the right place. It would have been rather awkward if it wasn’t.” He leans against the wall, making no move to free Nicolo from his bonds.

“In this part of town? They probably deserved it, even if it wasn’t necessarily for something they did tonight.” 

Yusuf tuts, theatrically exaggerated. “That isn’t very Christian of you, Nico. Maybe I should leave you here to contemplate your sins.” 

“How do you know I won’t just sleep? You’ll have to stay here and make sure I’m being properly penitent.” 

He looks around, as if seeing the place for the first time, and makes a face. “Not in this shithole. Might be adequate for you, but I have standards.” 

“Then get me out of here, and we can see how much higher your standards are. I’m betting not very.” 

Yusuf comes round behind him, checks the tightness of the ropes. His fingers against Nicolo’s skin are warm, and Nicolo prays the answering heat does not show through in his face. He feels the coolness of a blade, the whisper of a cut. His hands are free now, and he disentangles the ropes from his ankles. 

When he gets up, Yusuf tosses him something, and he catches it before he can figure out what it is. An old shirt, worn and patched, but not covered in blood and holes; which is more than he can say for what he’s currently wearing. 

“Thanks,” he says, pulling off his dirty shirt and putting on the clean one. He’ll have to burn that later. 

“Then we’re even,” Yusuf says. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” 

Before Nicolo can respond, he’s gone. Nicolo turns his nose into the shirt’s collar. It smells like cedar, probably from a storage chest. 

Underneath it there’s a faint hint of cardamom and other spices, familiar but not quite identifiable yet. He realizes it’s the tea Yusuf served him once, when Nicolo came to where he was staying. They drank it together, and Yusuf cleared the glasses from the table before drawing his scimitar.

“Why did you make me tea if we’re just going to kill each other again?” 

Yusuf looked at him like he was stupid. “You are still a guest. Now are we going to get on with this or not?”

Nicolo unsheathed his sword. “Ready when you are.”


End file.
